The Art of Betrayal

to their feet, partially blocking our view.
A woman staggered toward the players, clutching her belly. Parents grabbed their children and their blankets and ran for their cars.
“What it is, Tom? I can’t see.”
He took my arm, and we pushed our way toward the stage. People were shouting.
“She’s been hurt! Somebody call for help.”
“Look at the blood.”
Several cast members tried to help the injured woman, but she pushed them away. She appeared to be focused on the actress playing the green maiden. Reaching out with both hands, she took hold of the actress’s tunic, nearly pulling the young woman to the ground.
The crowd parted. The front of the woman’s white blouse was soaked with blood.
I gasped. “Tom—that’s Evelyn Villiers.”
She crumpled to the ground.
Tom rushed forward and felt for a pulse. “Kate, call nine-nine-nine.”
“Already on their way,” someone called out.
A siren screamed. Lights flashed as an ambulance rounded the corner from the main road. The sound faded as the emergency vehicle bumped over the grassy area and came to a halt. Several men jumped out. One grabbed what looked like a portable TV but was probably some kind of medical device.
“Stand back,” one of them called. I recognized Ralston Green, Yasmin’s footballer husband. At six foot five, he was hard to miss.
The EMTs worked for what seemed like an eternity. At last Ralston stood and peeled off his latex gloves. “Deceased,” he told Tom quietly. “Stab wound to the abdomen. Probably bled out.”
Dead? Evelyn Villiers is dead? I wanted to ask if they were sure.
“Crime scene manager’s on his way,” Tom told them. “Notify the coroner’s office. As soon as we get photographs, he can remove the body.”
“Yes, sir.” One of the medics pulled a radio from his belt and moved toward the vehicle.
Tom approached the cast members.
The actress playing the green maiden, a young woman of perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was crying. “She looked me straight in the eyes. She was trying to say something.”
“It sounded like mice,” Vivian said.
“Or mice end.” The maiden gulped down a sob and wiped her eyes on her wimple.
“You must mean Meissen,” I said.
Lady Barbara stepped forward. “Yes, that’s it. I heard her quite clearly.”
“Meissen?” Tom asked.
“The German porcelain manufacturer.”
“Why would she be thinking about porcelain when she’d been stabbed?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said, but I was thinking about our meeting at the shop. “She said her husband collected old Meissen.”
Tom addressed the green maiden. “Why do you think she singled you out?”
“I don’t know, do I?” the girl wailed. Her green makeup had smeared. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
A police van pulled up behind the ambulance. White-suited men hopped out, pulling on gloves and shoe covers. The crime scene team.
“Move back.” One of the team members pushed the crowd away from the body as another began rolling out the blue and white crime scene tape.
“Start taking down names and details,” Tom told a young, uniformed policeman. “First the cast members, then anyone who saw the incident. Backup is on the way.”
Turning to me, Tom whispered, “Are you sure that’s the woman who came into your shop?”
“Positive—that’s Evelyn Villiers.” I felt out of breath—probably shock.
Tom’s mobile pinged. “Mallory.” He listened, his hazel eyes darkening. Cupping his hand over the receiver, he looked at me. “Someone’s broken into Ivor’s shop. There’s blood on the floor and in the alley.”
“What?” An icy hand clutched my heart.
“On our way,” Tom said into the phone. Turning to the constable, he said, “Keep the crowd back. Crime scene team’s in charge now.”
“Will do, guv.” The young police constable looked slightly green around the gills.
“Come on, Kate.” Tom seized my hand. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Six
As we rounded St. Æthelric’s Church, I had to jog to keep up with Tom’s long strides.
My breath came in short bursts. “Someone’s broken into Ivor’s shop. There’s blood on the floor and in the alley.” How was that possible? I’d been there a few hours ago. Everything had been fine.
We crossed the High.
“This way, Kate. Around back.” Tom led me through a narrow passageway leading from the High Street to the alley and parking area at the rear of the shops. “Stay to the side. Don’t step in the blood if you can help it.”
A trail of dark fluid told me this was the path Evelyn Villiers had taken. She’d been bleeding profusely, fatally wounded. My throat tightened.
More sirens.
The rear door to Ivor’s shop stood open, guarded by a young female constable in a neon yellow vest and a cap with a black-and-white-checkered band. Near her, a man huddled on a plastic crate, his shoulders slumped, his head bent toward the ground. His shoes—what I could see of them—were bloody. A three-wheeled cargo bicycle sat abandoned near my parked car.
Tom flashed his warrant card. “What happened?”
“Looks like a break-in, sir. And some kind of attack.” A slight twist of the young constable’s upper lip told me she was fighting to retain control. “Crime scene team is on the way. There’s a lot of blood inside. No body. I tried not to disturb anything.”
“Well done. Your name, Constable?”
“Weldon, sir. Police Constable Anne Weldon. I work out of Sudbury. Can you tell me what’s going on at the green? I heard the radio call about an injured person.”
“A woman, deceased.”
“This is Mr. Henry Liu,” PC Weldon indicated the seated man. “He owns the Chinese takeaway. He noticed the open door and called it in.” A slight shifting of her eyes said there was more to the story.
The man stood. His hands were trembling.
“Detective Inspector Mallory. Can you tell me what happened?”
“My restaurant is three buildings down, toward the river.” Mr. Liu’s voice was clear and cultured. He was average height, slightly built. His black hair was neatly trimmed and smattered with silver. He might have been anywhere between forty and sixty-five.
“We have a stall at the May Fair. We’d run out of shrimp rolls, so I rode back on my bicycle to get more. My wife and I had just packed them up.” Mr. Liu